


It Just Ain't Right

by Leafling



Series: Underappreciated fandoms [13]
Category: Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Euthanasia, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, M/M, Or Established Relationship, Sad with a Happy Ending, whatever floats your boat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 06:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12382905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leafling/pseuds/Leafling
Summary: All that guilt, George takes it all in himself and suffocates with it.





	It Just Ain't Right

**Author's Note:**

> Can be a stand-alone, can be the sequel to Southern Hospitality. Regardless, I'm happy with how it turned out. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

_It just ain’t right._

The world, the people.

The way George can’t stop his hands from shakin’ long after the shot.

He’d _spared_ Lennie, but it don’t feel that way.

No, it feels like he _killed_ the only person in the whole damned world that gave a hoot’n hell ‘bout him. Feels like he’s lost some important part of himself.

His conscience. His brother.

_It ain’t just right._

How often he finds himself talkin’ to air, thinkin’ Lennie’s gonna respond. How often he’s gotta catch himself ‘fore he says, ‘ _Lennie likes that. Lennie would want that.’_ Lennie, this ’n’ that. How often he climbs into his bunk with a heavy heart and drowns himself in a bottle.

All that guilt, George takes it all in himself and suffocates with it. He doesn’t know who to blame, so he blames himself. _He owed it_ to Lennie to keep him straight, far outta trouble. Yet, he’s the one who killed the poor bastard.

_It just ain’t right._

George’s drinkin’ ain’t enough to effect his work, but Slim picks up on it. The quiet hiccupping at night when George thinks no one’s listenin’. Slim lets him have it, keeps his discovery to himself and lets George weep to high heaven until he finally falls asleep.

But Slim can’t sleep if George ain’t sleeping.

Can’t sit and watch him sufferin’ like this.

_It just ain’t right._

It’s well past midnight.

George is settled into his bunk and nursing his damned bottle. He’s got the covers all pulled up, but Slim can see his silhouette. Can smell the booze. Can hear him.

Slim is silent as sin, crawlin’ into the bunk, big body crowdin’ into what little space remains behind his friend. George goes taut, surprised. Slim’s arms go ‘round him before the other man can move away, pullin’ him to his chest.

He whispers into the sheet, _“It’s me.”_

George hiccups, shakin’ now, “ _you weren’t ‘posed to know…_ ”

“ _It’s okay,”_ Slim shushes him, pettin’ him through the covers like he was tendin’ a skittish horse. “ _I’m here. Y’ain’t gotta do this to yourself, George. Ain’t gotta suffer alone._ ”

 _It’s my fault he’s gone, Slim. Can’t ‘cha see?_ George wants to say, but he sobs like a babe instead.

Slim hushes him again, the arm not trapped underneath George goin’ under the covers to take the bottle and discard it onto the floor. _“It’s okay,”_ he repeats quiet, but firm, “ _cry if you needa, but no more doin’ it alone, George.”_

George feels Slims fingers thread through his own and it makes him warm in a way the booze can’t.

 _“You’re not alone,”_ Slim assures, squeezin’ George’s hand _._

He’s right.


End file.
